


Inevitable

by ren_sauce



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, most characters are mentioned - Freeform, spot conlon is a secret softie no one will take that away from me, why have love triangles when you can have healthy poly relationships?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_sauce/pseuds/ren_sauce
Summary: David Jacobs had no soulmark. David Jacobs had no soulmate, no one perfect person he would spend the rest of his life with. And that’s okay.Until Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly come bickering into his life.





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> me: jack and davey,,, or spot and davey,,, jack and davey,,, or SPOT and davey,,,  
> polyamory: hey bro  
> me:  
> me: well that solves that

David Jacobs had no soulmark.

It wasn’t a big deal. At least, not anymore. When he was twelve, it’d seemed like the biggest deal in the world. Sarah had already gotten her mark, a page that looked as if it had been torn out of a notepad on her forearm that occasionally had little messages and memos scrawled on it, and all the other boys in his class had gotten theirs, too. They’d made fun of him, because of course they had, being pre-teen boys and all. It wasn’t all that bad; in fact, it was mostly just the same thing – “David doesn’t have a soulmark, no one loves David!”. It had gotten old after a while. They’d grown out of the teasing and mocking, but he still caught them looking at him and snickering whenever the topic of soulmates was brought up.

It hardly mattered anymore. It was just one of those things. His name was David Jacobs, he was fifteen, and he had no soulmate. He didn’t feel hurt or upset whenever soulmates were brought up. He didn’t envy his sister for having what he didn’t. It was nice, actually, helping her to decipher her soulmates terrible handwriting and listening to her gush about the little subconscious messages they left on her arm – _‘I should get groceries’ ‘My deadline’s today’ ‘That was a cute dog’._ He enjoyed talking to Les about what his soulmate might be like – pretty, funny, special. Sure, maybe it hurt a little, to know he’d never have what they did, that he’d never experience the thrill and joy that they eventually would. But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t be helped. It was just... One of those things.

David Jacobs had no soulmark. David Jacobs had no soulmate, no one perfect person he would spend the rest of his life with. And that’s okay.

Until the day he walked into Newsie Square with Les at his heels and came face to face with Jack Kelly.

oOo

David Jacobs was no longer David Jacobs, the quiet bookish schoolboy who chose to mutter under his breath instead of stand up for himself and preferred the words of Charles Dickens than the company of others. Now, he was Davey, strike leader extraordinaire, Jack Kelly’s second in command and the very last braincell of the Lower Manhattan newsies.

Jack Kelly was the opposite of everything Davey had ever stood for. Davey prided himself on honesty, Jack lied for a living. Davey believed in being civil and diplomatic, Jack believed in punching first and talking later. Davey used his brain, Jack threw his out the window and went with the first impulsive thought that came to his empty mind.

But there was one thing both Jack and Davey could agree on, and that was doing the right thing. So when fat cats like Pulitzer decide to screw over the working kids of the city, it’s only natural that they fight back for the little guys. That they use their voices and speak up, prove that they won’t be pushed around and show Pulitzer he couldn’t control them.

A strike.

It hadn’t been Davey’s idea, despite what Jack insisted. Jack had come up with the idea to stop selling papes, Davey had just provided him with the word that matched the definition. It had always been Jack’s idea, and Jack had always been the leader. But apparently, Davey was smart or whatever, which lead to Jack immediately throwing him into the position of second in command. It was kind of funny, in a really sad way – at school, Davey was mediocre at best. He tried his hardest to keep up with the other kids, but it always seemed as if the answers just came to them like _that_. Davey had to work for his knowledge, and even then it was just barely enough to get him passing grades. His mother blamed the stress – what with their finances, living situations, and now their father’s condition and the strike to boot, she was certain Davey was being put under too much pressure for a fifteen year old. And maybe she was right. But, honestly... Davey just knew he wasn’t as naturally intelligent as the rest of the other kids.

“Bull fuckin’ _shit_.” Jack scoffed when Davey confessed he wasn’t even close to how intelligent Jack thought he was. “You’s the smartest guy I know, Dave!”

Davey kind of wanted to laugh, because – well – as horrible as it sounded, the newsies weren’t exactly fountains of wisdom. At least, not in the academic sense – they knew how to lie without being caught, how to set broken bones, how to pop dislocated joints back into their sockets and what a Harlem Hug was (“I tolds ya, Dave, s’just pickpocketing-“). By all means, they were much smarter than Davey in lots of ways. But when it came to academics, literature, diplomacy... Davey was the first guy they went to. And that was scary. Because Davey knew for a fact that he wasn’t as good as they thought he was. And if they kept putting all their eggs in Davey’s basket like this, he just knew he’d wind up failing.

“Hey.” Jack said gently, holding Davey’s shoulder. “You could never fail us, Davey. You’s part of the family now – ain’t no giving up on family.”

Davey just smiled softly, trying to fight the sinking feeling in his stomach.

oOo

“Remind me why I’m here again?” Davey huffed as he and Jack walked through Brooklyn – Jack with the strong, powerful strides of a person used to walking up and down streets every day, and Davey with the out of breath wheezes of a person who had never exercised in his life.

“Because we’s organizin’ a strike, Brooklyn is the sixth largest city in the world and I’m your very best friend who you support with all your heart?” Jack grinned, fluttering his eyelashes in a way that was so comical that it almost made Davey forget about how his feet felt like old worn out leather.

“I hate you.” Davey muttered, his feet dragging along the concrete with exhaustion. “I could be home helping my mother cook right now, or helping Sarah with her homework, or showing Les-”

“You care a lot ‘bout ya family, huh?” Jack asked out of nowhere.

“Um.” Davey blinked in surprise. “I guess? S’just – things are tight right now, and they need my help is all.”

He frowned when Jack nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on the road beneath them. He knew family was a touchy subject with Jack – with most of the newsies, really, considering most were either orphans or didn’t live with their parents for reasons Davey preferred not to think about. Just thinking about Jack’s expression when he’d found out that Davey and Les actually had a family – the way his voice had shaken ever so slightly when he’d asked ‘you got folks?’... It still made Davey feel sick in his stomach.

“S’good.” Jack shrugged after a moment of silence. “That you care so much ‘bout your family. ‘Cause, um - that what newsies do, y’know?” He scuffs the floor with his foot. “We looks out for each other.”

“Of course.” Davey nodded. “’Course, Jackie.”

Jack rose an amused eyebrow. “Jackie?”

“Uh!” Davey felt his ears begin to heat up. “I just – I-I dunno-“

“Relax, Dave.” Jack scoffed, shoving into him playfully. “S’nice. ‘Sides, I calls you Davey.”

“I still don’t like that.” Davey lied. “I told you it’s David.”

“And I tolds you, I don’t care.” Jack smirked.

Before Davey could respond, a rock smacked into the floor between the two of them, making them both jump and whirl around - Jack crouched low and ready to fight, Davey searching for something to throw or whack someone with.

“Hey!” A boy clad in red snapped at them, a loaded slingshot in his hand. “Spot Conlon wants to know why two Manhattan’s are on his terf.”

“Yeah?” Jack snarled, eyes narrowed and glinting. “Well you tell Spot Conlon that Manhattan wants to talk to ‘im.”

“If you get us killed, I’m going to slap you.” Davey hissed. “I am going to find your spirit and I will slap it in the face.”

“Shut _up.”_ Jack muttered. “Y’don’t show fear to Brooklyn boys.”

The Brooklyn boy in question rose an eyebrow at them, keeping his slingshot raised.

“And whaddya wanna talk to him about?” He asked cautiously.

“Kicking Pulitzer’s ass.” Jack replied. The boy furrows his brow in consideration and shrugs.

“Can’t argue with that. Follow me.”

oOo

For someone with such a reputation so terrifying that not a single newsie besides Jack wanted to go and talk to him, Spot Conlon was a lot smaller than Davey was initially anticipating.

Don’t get him wrong – he was still certain Spot could kick his ass without breaking one singular sweat, but it was still kind of amusing seeing a guy known for being intimidating and violent clocking out at about 5’4. Not to mention the little key necklace hung around his neck, the rusted metal glinting in the light – it was downright _precious_.

Then Davey caught Spot’s narrowed eyes, the scar over his eyebrow and his folded arms (with more muscles than Davey had in his entire body, he’ll have you know), and he felt that intimidation factor begin to kick in.

“Kelly.”

“Conlon.”

They both glared at each other with crossed arms, puffing themselves up to look as large and scary as possible. Davey knew it was a serious moment, what with all the Brooklyn newsies watching them intently, but he couldn’t help but find it kind of funny.

“Jacobs.” Davey said, raising his hand. Both boys turned to face him, Jack looking almost impressed by his idiocy, and Spot looking at him like he was a drivelling simpleton (fair enough).

Davey cleared his throat, tugging his tie awkwardly.

“So are we gonna talk about the strike or not?”

Spot glared at Jack and jabbed a thumb in Davey’s direction.

“Who the fuck’s this beanpole?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“His name’s Davey, asshole.” He growled. “We call him the Walking Mouth. He’s my partner.”

“Well, congratulations.” Spot sneered. “Now what’s this shit he’s talkin’ ‘bout a strike, huh?”

“Pulitzer upped the price of papers.” Davey said before Jack could even open his mouth. “Raised the fee by an tenth of a penny to increase demand; that’s ten more cents per hundred. And that means newsies have to sell ten more papers per day just to make the same pay as usual, all so Pulitzer can line his pockets a little more.”

Spot rose an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I know how much papers cost.” He growled. “We ain’t idiots. We know Pulitzer’s uppin’ prices and we know it ain’t fair. What’s this got to do with Brooklyn?”

“Brooklyn’s the sixth largest city in the world.” Jack said, grabbing Davey’s shoulder as he threatens to go on another rant. “If we’ve got you on our side, we’s unbeatable. Pulitzer’ll have to give in.”

Spot shot him an unimpressed look.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “Say we strike. Then what?”

“We win.”

“No.” Spot corrected. “Pulitzer gets the cops to bash our heads.”

“But-“

“Do you know how many newsies there are in Brooklyn?” Spot asked, though he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Too many to count. We got three fuckin’ lodging houses down here and they’s all filled to the brim. Y’know how many littles we got? Too damn many. And I ain’t puttin’ ‘em in danger just ‘cause you don’t wanna pay half a penny more for ya papes.”

“This isn’t about _pennies_ , you moron!” Davey snapped, and judging from the sudden stares of the Brooklyn newsies and the strangled noise Jack makes behind him, he had already signed his own death warrant.

Spot eyes narrowed as his lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl.

“The fuck did you just say to me, beanpole?” He growled, taking a step forward. Jack tugged Davey to stand behind him and puffed himself up as much as he could, his grip on Davey’s wrist tight and protective.

“You better back the hell up, Conlon, or-“

“I said, this isn’t about pennies.” Davey said firmly, pushing Jack out of his way. “This is about power. Pulitzer – all those people, safe in their towers – they think we’re their slaves. They think they can order us around and work us ‘till we bleed just to make themselves a few extra bucks, and they can’t!”

He could feel himself getting worked up – could _feel_ Spot staring at him like he was judging whether or not to tear him apart with his bare hands. Davey took a shuddering breath and clenched his fists at his sides.

“We’re people too.” He said shakily. “We have rights. Being poor, or – or not having a family – that doesn’t make us worthless! We deserve a life, a good one, and instead those little kids you were talking about are slaving just to keep themselves alive! And now they think they can push us close to death, risk our welfare and our lives just to line their pockets, well - well it ain’t fair!”

Jack pressed his hand to Davey’s shoulder, and he allowed himself to breath. He closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed heavily through his nose, forcing himself to keep his tears of frustration and anger at bay.

“We’re doing something that no one’s ever tried before.” Davey said slowly. “And maybe it’s stupid. Maybe there’s a chance things’ll go south. But what you’re doing is even worse.” He forced himself to look up, to look Spot in the eye and force him to understand. “Because you’re just rolling over and letting him win without even _trying_ to fight for your family.”

As Spot stared at him, brown eyes unwavering and unreadable, Davey ran through all the possible outcomes in his head. Best case scenario, he got soaked in the face and Jack would have to carry him home in shame. Worst case scenario, Spot Conlon’s army of Brooklyn boys would beat him to death with their fists while Jack got mildly maimed and would have to sprint back to the Duane Street lodging house as quickly as possible before he was also inevitably murdered.

He tensed, waiting for Spot to make his move. Nothing. Davey frowned, tearing his eyes away from their firm hold on Spot’s own and scanning his face. Spot’s eyes were no longer narrowed, his brow no longer creased. His entire face seemed to have slackened – even his hands hung loosely at his sides. If Davey didn’t know any better, he’d say the King of Brooklyn was actually stunned, but... That just didn’t make _sense_. Davey’s words were hardly inspiring – they were more just him yelling at Spot for giving up so easily. It would make more sense for Spot to just soak him and leave him to bleed, not stare at him like... Like Davey didn’t even _know_ what.

“Uh.” One boy asked, frowning at their leader. “You good, Spot?”

“What?” He jumped slightly, whirling wildly to look at the boy in question before spinning back to face Davey and Jack. “I – you-!”

He let out a small pant of breath, and Davey would dare to say the King of Brooklyn actually looked kind of speechless. Spot swallowed, running a hand through his hair.

“I, uh.” He muttered, avoiding Davey’s gaze. “I see why they calls you Walking Mouth.”

Davey frowned at the speechless newsie. Jack tensed beside him, and as Davey placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he couldn’t help but notice the way Jack was frowning at Spot. Like he thought Spot was up to something.

“Look.” Spot said finally, his composure finally returning to him. “I ain’t gonna risk my boys lives on a failed strike. But,” He added before Davey could go opening his mouth again. “I ain’t just gonna roll over and let Pulitzer pick their pockets and leave them to drown in the gutter. So I need proof.”

Jack frowned. “Proof?”

“Yeah, Kelly, proof, ever heard of it?” Spot snapped. “You get me proof that this is going to work – that you won’t back down at the first sign of conflict – and you can count on Brooklyn.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and Davey was about to grin in delight before Jack folded his arms and jutted his chin.

“What’re you playin’ at, Conlon?” He asked carefully, scanning his features.

“How ‘bout you just take the compromise and get the fuck outta my terf, huh, Kelly?” Spot snarled.

 “Thank you.” Davey smiled breathlessly. “Thank you – really, you won’t regret this-“

“Yeah, yeah!” Spot snapped, a light shade of pink tinting the bridge of his nose. “Just get the fuck out!”

With one last grateful ‘thank you’ from Davey, a snide remark about Spot’s height from Jack and some threats and swears from Spot and the Brooklyn boys, Davey finally dragged Jack out of the lodging house.

“Wow.” Jack laughed as they wandered back home over the Brooklyn Bridge. At least he’d been nice enough to slow down his pace to let Davey take it easy. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“It didn’t.” Davey sighed, his high from Spot’s begrudging acceptance quickly being worn thin by logic. “Not entirely. I mean, we don’t know if they’ll be satisfied with our proof or whatever.”

“Still.” Jack shrugged, looking at Davey with something akin to awe. “He actually listened to you. He compromised because of _you_. I mean – how did you even _do_ that?”

Davey frowned, thinking back to his angered speech, Spot’s shocked, speechless face, and his stuttered compromise.

“Honestly? No idea.”

“Well, whatever you’re doin’, keep doin’ it.” Jack smiled, hooking his arm over Davey’s shoulders. “I know I keep sayin’ Spot’s the key to the strike, but... I think you’re one more ace up our sleeve, Davey.”

Davey blinked, feeling his face begin to flush – from the walking, definitely just from the walking.

“Oh.” He smiled softly, leaning a little further into Jack’s touch. “Well. Thanks.”

Jack smirked, and maybe it was just Davey’s imagination, but he swore he could feel him rubbing his thumb along his waist.

“No problem, Dave.”

oOo

“What were the Brooklyn boys like?” Les asked as Davey clambered through their bedroom window. He looked absolutely exhausted – he must’ve been waiting all night.

Davey frowned at the question, thinking back to Spot’s muscled arms, scarred brow and perpetual scowl.

“... Big.”

oOo

“This is gonna work.” Jack said as he paced the gates of the circulation centre. “This is definitely gonna work.”

“Of course it will.” Davey nodded, though they both knew he was talking to himself more than to the other newsies.

“It’ll work.” Jack repeated. “It - It _will_ work.“ He sighed, casting Davey a hopeless look. “Won’t it?”

Davey felt his chest clench painfully at the fear and panic in Jack’s eyes, the way they kept darting to the circulation centre gates as if Pulitzer was waiting right there to cart them all into the Refuge.

“Hey.” He said gently, placing his hands on Jack’s shoulders. “Of _course_ it will work. No matter what happens, people will see. Katherine’s running the story either way, yeah? So we’ll get our press, and then everyone’ll know what we did here today.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“They’ll know.” He said quietly, reaching up to place his hands over Davey’s. “We’ll win.”

Davey smiled, squeezing his shoulders gently.

“Newsies forever?”

Jack grinned, reaching over to grab Davey’s own shoulders.

“Newsies forever.”

“Is this the part where you two kiss?” Race huffed as he walked up to the small group of newsies gathered by the gate, taking a drag of his cigar. “’Cause it seems like you’s gonna kiss.”

“Fuck off, Racer!” Jack snapped, quickly stepping out of Davey’s space. Davey refused to feel hurt, even when that bitter voice in the back of his head told him Jack had never been bothered about touching the other newsies, that Jack only ever seemed uncomfortable whenever someone noticed he was touching Davey. No, not even then.

“Hey, relax.” He said gently, rubbing Jack’s shoulder. “It’s all gonna be fine. _Carpe diem,_ right?”

Jack stiffened beneath his hand.

“What’d you say?” He asked quietly, brown eyes wide.

Davey frowned. _“Carpe diem?_ It means seize the day, in Latin. Y’know, be bold, take risks, that kind of thing?”

Jack blinked, his breath coming out in short stuttered pants.

“Y-Yeah.” He said quietly, shrugging Davey’s hand off his shoulder. He shot him a glance from the corner of his eye before staring down at the floor. “Be bold, huh?”

“Yeah.” Davey smiled, hoping to reassure him. He’d never seen Jack so shaken. Hopefully it wouldn’t keep him from rallying the newsies – if they saw their ‘fearless leader’ panicking so badly, Davey had a sneaking suspicion that they’d be royally screwed. “We can do that, can’t we? Seize the day. Today is the day to seize the day.”

 _“Carpe diem...”_ Jake mumbled.

“You seriously believe that?” Race scoffed around his cigar.

“Yes.” Davey said firmly. “Because if we don’t, then who will? Yeah, we’re scared, and yeah, maybe this won’t go as well as we hoped, but at least we’re doing it. Facing our fears. Showing people that we won’t just lie down and accept it. So are you with us, or are you just gonna go down without a fight?”

Race blinked, his cigar hanging loosely in his mouth.

“Well jeez, Mouth, you don’t gotta be so hostile.” He muttered, taking a drag. “Weren’t you the one talkin’ about being in this together? Jeez...”

“That means he’s in.” Jack smiled, bumping his and Davey’s shoulders together. “Okay. Let’s do this. We’re doin’ this?”

“We’re doing this.” Davey nodded, clapping his shoulder. _“Carpe diem.”_

 _“Carpe diem.”_ Jack said quietly. “Seize the day. We can do this.”

oOo

Seizing the day lasted about half an hour.

Davey panted heavily as he sprinted through back alleys and thin passageways between buildings, gripping Les tightly in his arms.

“Lemme go, Dave!” Les cried, struggling in his hold. “We gotta go back, we gotta help-!”

“We can’t help!” Davey snapped, ducking behind a dumpster. “Les – _Lester Jacobs, listen to me!”_

Les froze, looking up at Davey with wide eyes. Davey fought the guilty feeling in his stomach – he’d never yelled at Les before. He’d only ever snapped at him once or twice when he was caught roughhousing at school or being particularly bothersome at home while Davey was trying to do his homework. But he’d never yelled.

“We can’t go back.” Davey said, voice ragged and torn from running. His sides hurt with each word – the Delancey’s had taken particular delight in beating down Jack Kelly’s second in command. Just moving his mouth too much made the cut on his lip threaten to spilt open again, and each move of his cheek made the bruise on his eye sting and spasm painfully. “Do you understand? We _can’t_. There are cops there, strikebreakers, and if they catch us, we’ll be thrown in jail.”

“But we need to help-!”

“Do you think mom and dad are going to be able to handle this?!” Davey snapped. “They’re under enough stress as it is! And besides, it’s one thing if I get caught – you’re just a kid, Les. What do you think they’re gonna do to a kid in a place like the Refuge?”

Les quietened, looking stubbornly at the ground. Davey half expected him to snap that he wasn’t a little kid, that he could fight and look out for himself – but it seemed like Les knew, deep down, that there’d be no hope for a small kid like him in a place like that.

“I’m sorry.” Davey said gently. “But we can’t-“

“Did you hear somethin’?”

“I know he came this way!”

Both brothers froze.

“The Delancey’s.” Les whispered.

“Run.” Davey said quickly, shoving Les to his feet. “Go home, do not look back, do not slow down, _run.”_

“But-!”

“I’ll be right behind you!” Davey said before shoving Les into the street. “Now _go!”_

“There they are!”

Just as Les began to sprint down the street to their tenement building, Davey turned on his heel and ran in the other direction.

“Hey!” He heard one of the Delancey’s yell. “There he goes!”

 _Don’t look back_ , he repeated over and over in his head. He prayed Les had listened.

Davey may not have liked exercise – he definitely could not stand walking from Duane Street to the Brooklyn newsies lodging house in the sweltering heat of New York summer, that was for sure – but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was run. Not many people at his school were particularly fond of a lanky know-it-all Jewish kid from a poor, lower class family milling around with the rest of them in a hand-me-down, patched up uniform and shoes that were a size too small. He knew how to squeeze through tight spaces, how to tighten his chest so no one would hear him breathing, and, most importantly, how to run for up to an hour with no breaks while wearing a tie.

He didn’t know he long he ran for. He didn’t know what roads he took, which directions he chose, but somehow, he found himself sprinting across the Brooklyn Bridge. His feet pounded on the concrete, each thud burning bruises into his worn out bones, but he managed to reach the other side. He didn’t look back until he had tripped over a crack in the road at the bottom of Fulton Street, smacking his bruised and bloodied face into the sidewalk and fighting a broken sob from bubbling out of his throat. Davey had always forced himself not to cry – not when the boys at school made their jokes, or when his dad had busted his leg, or even as he had to just stand there and watch as the newsies were beaten to the ground by bulls and strike-breakers. He wasn’t allowed to. His mother was skipping sleep and meals just trying to take care of them, his dad was bedridden with a ruined leg and a depressive mental state, Sarah was working double shifts at the laundromat just to get them extra cash and Les was nine. No one had the time or the energy to care about Davey’s tears of stress and panic, and he didn’t expect them to. It’d be selfish to force them to drop everything and take care of him just because he couldn’t handle the weight of the situation. So Davey Jacobs did not cry. Not when the boys at school ripped his clothes and yelled out slurs, not when his family was tearing at the seams, not when the strike was crumbling in on itself and certainly not when he busted his face on the sidewalk.

The Delancey’s hadn’t followed him, he noted in the back of his mind as he fought back those stupid tears stinging the corners of his eyes. With good reason, no doubt. No one would be crazy enough to run into Spot Conlon’s terf after a fight.

“Hey!”

No one but Davey, apparently.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ here, ‘Hattan?!” The small group of Brooklyn boys snarled as they advanced on him. “You think you can just come into our terf-“

Davey lifted his bloodied face, squinting at them through his swollen black eye.

 _“Shit.”_ One of the boys breathed, his slingshot falling to his side.

“Someone get Spot.” A taller boy who Davey recognised as Spot’s second in command from the other day. _“Now.”_

Davey wasn’t really sure how it happened – maybe he blacked out the moment the Brooklyn newsies hauled him to his feet – but by the next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on a bed in the one of the Brooklyn lodging houses with Spot Conlon standing over him with his arms crossed.

“What the fuck happened to ‘im?” Spot growled in his throat, not taking his eyes off of Davey. His lips pulled back in a snarl at the silence of the newsies. “Someone answer me, _now!”_

“Pulitzer...” Davey managed to choke out, his throat straining with the word. Spot’s eyes softened as he knelt beside Davey’s bed, hovering over him awkwardly. “He got the cops on us...”

“Don’t talk.” Spot said firmly, pushing him back to lie against the pillows. “Rest. And you better not fuckin’ die, Mouth, I ain’t cleanin’ any dead bodies outta my lodgin’s.”

Davey laughed bitterly, though his laugh was more of a dry broken wheeze.

“That’d be nice...” He said quietly as his eyes began to slip shut. “That’d be...”

Someone sighed, and Davey felt a soft but fleeting touch on his forehead.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill that Kelly.” Was the last thing Davey heard before his body fell into unconsciousness.

oOo

Davey woke up with a pounding pain in his head, eye, ribs, and entire body.

“Jesus Christ...” He groaned, running his hand through his messy, dirty hair.

“Well, that doesn’t sound very Jewish.” A voice said quietly as a chair scraped along the floor as it was pulled to his bed.

“Spot?” Davey frowned. Either he still had a concussion, or the King of Brooklyn was actually sat by his bed with a bowl of soup in his hand. Davey sighed, tipping his head back against the pillow. “Please tell me I just had an awful dream and I didn’t actually get my face beaten in by bulls.”

“I’d say no, but then I’d have to break every mirror in this damn place.” Spot said in a way that was almost lighthearted, but the downward turn of his mouth said otherwise.

“What am I doing here?” Davey asked as he attempted to hold himself up on his bruised arms.

“Don’t do that!” Spot snapped, forcing Davey back onto the bed as he propped the pillow behind him. “You’s gonna bust up your arms again! Now just lie back and take this fuckin’ soup, moron!”

“Your bedside manner is impeccable.” Davey muttered, wincing as his shirt pulled away from the scabs on his back.

“Quit movin’ around!” Spot yelled, making Davey flinch. Spot stiffened once he saw Davey’s reaction and looked firmly at the ground. “Sorry, I – I wasn’t trying to-“

“It’s fine.” Davey said quietly. He shifted in the bed, quickly stopping when he noticed the way Spot bit down on his lip to keep himself from yelling. “Um.” He mumbled awkwardly. “How’d you know I was Jewish?”

“Hm?” Spot hummed, avoiding his gaze. “Uh – just knew. Lucky guess, you know how it goes.” Before Davey could open his mouth, Spot shoved the bowl of soup at him. “Eat your fuckin’ soup and then get some fuckin’ rest, dammit!”

“You swear a lot.” Davey chuckled as he idly stirred the soup.

“Ah.” Spot smirked as he nodded. “Forgot you had a little brother. No wonder you hate the swearin’.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Racer came over after the bulls attacked you guys.” Spot shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Said your little brother Louis-“

“Les.”

“Right.” Spot nodded. “Said he was in a whole frenzy after you ran off with the Delancey’s on your tail and asked if we’d seen ya.”

“Where is he now?”

Spot rose an eyebrow. “Do you know how long it’s been?”

“Why?” Davey frowned as panic began to burn through his bones. “How – how long as it been, what happened?”

“Relax.” Spot said firmly. “It’s only been two days-“

 _“Two days?!”_ Davey all but screamed. “Oh my God, I should be out working! Les is all by himself, our family won’t be getting any pay – I gotta go!”

“No damn way!” Spot snapped. “Your wounds still ain’t healed yet, you can’t make the trip back to Manhattan by yourself!”

“I have to get back to work!”

“Fine.” Spot folded his arms and jutted his chin. “If you can walk from that bed to the door, you can go.”

Davey huffed, handing Spot his soup. He threw off the covers and got to his feet, blinking away the black spots in his vision.

“Oh, _so_ difficult.” He scoffed as he took a step and promptly collapsed into Spot’s arms.

“Easy!” Spot cried, hooking Davey’s arms over his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, and you called me a moron!”

“Dammit.” Davey muttered as he clutched Spot’s shoulders. “What am I gonna do?”

“Hey, relax.” Spot said gently (or as gently as he could, being, y’know, terrifying). “It ain’t as bad as it seems. I mean, I ain’t been workin’ since you came here and-“

“What?!” Davey cried. “Oh my God, you haven’t been earning any wages just because I showed up?! How are you gonna eat, or – or pay for lodging’s and-“

“Relax, Jacobs.” Spot sighed, forcing him back into the bed as best he could. “I give Hotshot and Myron my money for the papes, they share ‘em out fifty-fity and sell ‘em, then I get my share of the profit. Sure, they need to carry around a few extra papes, but they’s good sellers. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal.” Davey sighed. “I have to get out of here – I have to find Jack and-“

“Jack?” Spot frowned. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Davey whispered as dread settled in his stomach. “What – what do you mean gone, what happened to him?!”

“Dunno.” Spot shrugged. “No one can find him. Last Racer told me, he was headin’ down Duane Street, but he never showed up at the lodgin’ house. Or if he did, he left soon after.”

“No.” Davey said, shaking his head. “Jack wouldn’t – he wouldn’t do that, he – he’s the leader, he-“ His voice cracked pitifully as a lump began to form in his throat. “He _wouldn’t_.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have. Jack couldn’t have left them, he – he said they were a _family_. And Jack had said... He’d _said_ that there was no giving up on family. What had happened to family, to seizing the day, to newsies forever? How could Jack not have meant that, how could he-

Davey recalled how many times Jack had lied in the amount of time they had been friends. How Jack literally lied for a living.

How Jack did anything to keep himself alive.

Ah. So that was how.

Spot winced at Davey’s expression, gnawing his lower lip.

“I dunno what to tell you, Dave.” He said quietly. “All everyone knows is he’s gone.”

Davey sighed, flopping back against the pillow.

“Fuck.” He muttered. “So I guess Brooklyn’s out, then, huh?”

Spot frowned. “Why’zat?”

“You said you needed proof.” Davey sighed. “That we wouldn’t back down at conflict. Well-“ He rose his bloodied knuckles and bruised forearms. “Conflict happened. We backed down. I – Jesus Christ, I _ran_ all the way here like – like some kind of-!”

“Hey, easy!” Spot said carefully. “Look, just – just try to-“

“Davey!”

Both boys jerked their heads to see Racetrack standing in the doorway.

“Race.” Davey tried his best to smile. “Hey.”

“You’s alive!” Race cried in delight, running to the bed and tackling Davey into a hug. He winced as Race slapped his hands against the wounds on his back.

“Hey, easy!” Spot snapped, swatting Race’s head. “He ain’t healed yet!”

“Oh!” Race squeaked, quickly unwinding himself from the hug. “Sorry, pal. Got excited.”

“No problem.” Davey said gently. “Spot’s just being paranoid.”

“Yeah, paranoid about them fuckin’ bruises all over ya face.” Spot muttered petulantly.

“Whatever.” Davey scoffed, rolling his eyes. Spot huffed and stuck his tongue out at him, forcing a wheezy laugh out of him. “Well, we’d better be going then, huh, Race?”

“I’m sorry, did you miss the part where you fell over trying to stand up?” Spot asked.

“You said I couldn’t go back to Manhattan by myself.” Davey jabbed his thumb at Race. “Behold.”

“Yeah, I’ll take him back.” Race smiled.

“No, no, no you won’t.” Spot snarled. “He’s in rough shape, ain’t no way he’s gettin’ across the bridge by himself!”

“Uh, hello?” Race frowned, pointing at himself. “What, am I invisible here?”

“Please, goin’ with you is worse than goin’ by himself.” Spot scoffed. “You’d get him pushed off the damn bridge!”

“Okay, yeah, I don’t have time for this.” Davey huffed, getting to his feet. “Race, help me, we’re finding Jack.”

“Jack?” Race frowned. “He’s gone.”

“I know. Spot told me. And then I refused to accept it.”

“What?” Spot rose an eyebrow. “You _refused to accept it?”_

“It’s a talent of mine.” Davey smiled. “Race, help me up.”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Higgins!” Spot snapped, rounding on the other newsie.

“Race, help me.”

“Racer, stay.”

“C’mere, Race!”

“Stay right there!”

“Come to Davey!”

“ _Stay!”_

“I love you both and have issues with authority and am very conflicted right now!” Race cried. “Davey, let’s go!”

“No!”

“Yes!” Davey grinned, hooking his arm around Race’s neck. “Let’s go, Race.”

“I will pull the two of you back here if I have to!” Spot snapped.

“Spot!” Davey huffed. “Look, I know you’re worried for – I dunno, some reason?! But I need to find Jack.”

“He’s-“

“I know you think he’s gone, but he’s not, I know it!” Davey cried. “I know he is! He’s my friend, he’s-“ He sighed, fixing Spot with a firm look. “He’s family, Spot. You don’t give up on family.”

Spot blinked, swallowing awkwardly as he looked at the floor. He sighed, tugging on the key dangling over his chest.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “Yeah, that’s, um. That’s true.”

Davey rose his eyebrows questioningly. Spot huffed through his nose and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Go. Whatever. Find your guy.”

“Thank you.” Davey smiled gratefully. “I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever.” Spot muttered. “Just – tell Kelly I’mma kill him the next time I see him, yeah?”

“Of course.” Davey smiled. “See you, Spot.”

Spot shrugged and turned to the splintering desk in the corner of the room, muttering something about calculating his share of the profit.

“Wow.” Race smirked as he and Dave began their trek across the bridge. “You’s even got the King of Brooklyn wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“What?” Davey frowned. “How many cigars did you smoke today?”

“Oh, come _on!”_ Race snorted. “Spot only goes mama bear like that over his newsies – and even then, it’s usually only for the littles. I once saw him shove Hotshot into a gutter once for trying to hug him. Hell, I’s been sellin’ at Sheepshead for years and I’m pretty sure Spot still hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, he sure as fuck doesn’t like me as much as he likes you!” Race huffed. “Do you even have _eyes?!_ Careful abought you bruises, Davey! Let me give you soup, Davey! Please don’t leave before I take care of you as best I can, Davey!”

“He doesn’t talk like that.” Davey muttered, rolling his eyes and fighting the heat in his face. “And what do you mean, _even_ Spot?”

Race rose an eyebrow. “Have you ever looked at Jack?”

Davey fought his flush. Of _course_ he’d looked at Jack, he’d looked at Jack far more than a best friend should.

“I see him every day, of course I’ve looked at him.” He muttered.

“I am _this_ close to dropping you.” Race rolled his eyes. “It’s just unfair is what it is – Jack practically snapped Oscar’s neck when he went after you durin’ the brawl in the square and now Spot’s waitin’ on ya hand and foot, too! I don’t get it, what’s so hot about you? ‘Cause whatever it is, I don’t see it!”

“Thank you, Race, that does wonders for my self-esteem.” Davey huffed. “Can you let me limp in peace?”

“Sure thing, pal.” Race smirked. “Wouldn’t wanna piss off your entourage or anything.”

“I don’t have an entourage.” Davey said firmly. “Spot, he... I don’t think he even likes me. I think I’m just pissing him off.”

Race rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort when someone cut him off.

“Hey!”

“This has got to stop happening-“ Davey muttered as they turned to see a Brooklyn newsie sprint up to them.

“Message from Spot.” The newsie said. “He says next strike event you guys have, you can count on Brooklyn.”

Race grinned, plucking his cigar out of his mouth and pointing at Davey triumphantly.

“Just pissin’ him off, huh?”

Davey shot the Brooklyn newsie a pleading look.

“This is going to sound weird but _please_ grab that brick and hit me with it.”

The newsie blinked in surprise.

“Fuck, no!” He retorted, taking a step back. “I lay one hand on you and Spot’ll have my head.”

“Oh, really?” Race grinned. “Looks like dear ol’ Spotty’s worried for his boy Davey!”

“That’s it.”

“Aw, is someone upset? Wait, Davey – _Davey Jacobs, step away from the rail!”_

oOo

By the time Davey managed to drag himself to Medda’s theatre, he had already searched the Duane Street lodging house (twice), the circulation centre (before being chased out by the Delancey’s), and every spot he’d ever sold at with Jack. He’d even asked the newsies where his usual spots were – Wall Street, Central Park, Jacobi’s Deli, you name it – and still no sign of Jack. Medda’s theatre was Davey’s final hope – he’d sent Race sprinting down the Sheepshead to see if Jack had somehow fallen asleep among the hay, and a Brooklyn newsie – a small, stocky girl who looked ready to knock the teeth out of anyone who looked at her – had even ran down to say that Spot would be sending his boys to search all the streets of Brooklyn for Manhattan’s leader.

(“Don’t go getting’ your hopes up, though.” She’d muttered. “If Spot finds him before anyone else does, the poor sucker’ll be floatin’ down the east river.”

Davey decided it was now vital that they found Jack as quickly as possible.)

That had left Davey with Medda’s theatre. He’d remembered the way Jack had smiled so brightly and carefree, so happy to be amongst the props and the paints, hugging Medda and congratulating the actors like he belonged there with them. Davey remembered what Medda had told them – where better to escape trouble than a theatre? Well, this was about as much trouble as Davey could stomach.

He wandered through halls and catwalks, staring firmly at the ground and tipping his hat to shadow his busted face. Finally, he made his way across the catwalk of the main stage, his ears pricking at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Jack?” He whispered, rushing to the rail and beaming once he saw Jack next to a canvas, face and hands speckled with paint and freckles. “Jack!”

The boy in question jolted, looking up from his conversation with Medda to Davey leaning on the rail.

“Mind letting a pal know you’re alive?!” Davey laughed, barely even trying to sound angry as he sprinted down the stairs two at a time.

“Where were you?!” He asked as Medda quietly exited the stage. “We couldn’t find you anywhere, I was worried sick!”

Jack blinked for a moment, staring at Davey like he wasn’t sure he was real.

“You ever thought maybe I didn’t wanna be found?” He muttered, walking back to his canvas. Davey frowned at his tone before turning his attention to the painting Jack was focused on.

“Wow.” He breathed, taking a small step towards the vibrant pinks and oranges. “Is that a real place? That Santa Fe?”

Jack mumbled something in response. Davey felt a small pang in his chest at his uncharacteristic silence.

“Hey.” He smiled, kneeling beside him and pulling out a newspaper from under his arm. “Check this out! Katherine got us on the front page of the Sun, above the fold! Oh yes, my friend!” He dramatically unfolded the paper. _“Above_ the fold!”

He could’ve sworn he heard Jack let out a tiny chuckle, and his heart began to swell.

“Everyone knows our story now.” He grinned, staring at the headline. “And with press like this, there’s no way Pulitzer can ignore us any-“

He felt his words die on his tongue as gentle, calloused fingers traced his chin.

“You’s hurt.” Jack said quietly, tilting his chin back and forth to survey the damage.

“Uh.” Davey mumbled. “Yeah. Delancey’s, y’know? I, um.” He chuckled awkwardly. “I actually wound up running all the way to Brooklyn to get away from them.”

Jack jerked his head up to gape at him.

“You hate walkin’ up there.”

“Well, yeah, but...” Davey shrugged. “Given the situation, what’re you gonna do?”

Jack’s expression soured as he took away his hand.

“The situation, huh?” He muttered. Davey cocked his head.

“Jack?” He asked gently. “I – I know it looks bad, but it’s really okay. Spot Conlon patched me up – he was real nice, actually.”

“Spot Conlon?” Jack frowned, his surprise almost making his voice sound slightly more alive. “He patched you up?”

“Yeah.” Davey nodded emphatically. “He was real nice about it – kind of a mother hen, but, y’know... Sweet.”

“Sweet?” Jack scoffed. “Spot Conlon ain’t sweet.”

“You know what I mean.” Davey huffed, even though he knew Jack didn’t know at all. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to explain it. “And this isn’t even what we’re supposed to be talking about!”

“Yeah?” Jack asked as he brushed more strokes on the canvas. “So what are we talkin’ ‘bout, huh?”

“I’m gonna ask Medda if we can take the theatre on Sunday.”

“For what?”

“A rally.” Davey grinned. “After this headline, every newsie in New York’s backing us. Spot even sent over a kid to say next event, we can count on Brooklyn! So, we’re gonna hold a rally. Every newsie in the city can have an opinion, _and_ a vote! How’s that sound?”

“Good enough to get you thrown in a padded cell.”

Davey recoiled, frowning defensively at Jack’s cynicism.

“Wow, the guy painting pictures of places he’s never seen is calling _me_ crazy.” He muttered.

“You wanna see a place I’ve seen?!” Jack snapped. “I seen Newsie Square filled with kids being crushed and beaten and sent to jail all – all ‘cause o’ my big mouth-!”

“Oh, lighten up, no one _died!”_

Jack let out an outraged laugh.

“Oh, is that whatcha aimin’ for?!” He asked, rising to his feet. “There is no way I’m putting them kids back in danger, Davey!”

“We are doing something that has never been done, of course things are going to go wrong!” Davey snapped, standing and following Jack as he paced the stage. “But we need to make a stand, we need to show that we won’t be pushed around by people like Pulitzer, you _know_ that! Hell, it was your goddamn idea to stand up to him, so why are you so quick to just give up?!”

“I ain’t givin’ up!”

“So rolling over and letting Pulitzer drown us in the gutter is rising to the occasion?!” Davey snarled. “You’re the one who said we’re a family! You said newsies forever, seize the day, there’s no giving up on family! What, was that just all another one of your lies?!”

“No!”

“Then why are you giving up like this?!”

“Because I can’t lose you too!”

Davey’s retort died in his throat, his face falling as the anger seeped from his body. Jack deflated beside him, running paint-stained fingers through his hair and yanking on the locks.

“Look, I – I know we ain’t known each other all that long, but Dave – you’s important to me. You’s my friend, my partner, my-“ He made a small sound in the back of his throat, taking a small stumbling step back.

“Your what?” Davey asked quietly, edging towards him. “Jack. Your _what?”_

Jack breathed heavily and dragged his hand down his face.

“I know you never talked much ‘bout soulmates.” Jack said softly. “A-And that’s fine, ‘cause we never brought ‘em up, and I ain’t really one for ‘em either, like – when you’s a newsie, you kinda give up on all that cosmic bullcrap. But then you come along, and...”

“Jack.” Davey said gently, taking another step towards him. “What’re you saying?”

Jack sighed, hooking a finger around his shirt collar and pulling his shirt down to reveal neat cursive letters on his collarbone.

_Carpe diem._

Davey felt the weight of those words like a punch in the stomach.

“That...” He murmured, reaching out to trace the words on his collarbone. “That’s my handwriting...”

Jack closed his eyes like he was in pain, and Davey quickly pulled his hand back.

“Well, that settles it.” He muttered, moving his collar back. “You’s my soulmate, Dave. A-And maybe I ain’t yours, and that’s okay. But you’s mine, and I ain’t puttin’ my soulmate in danger for a lousy half a penny.”

“This isn’t about pennies, Jack!”

“No, it’s about you!” Jack snapped. “Because I care about you and I _need_ you and I ain’t lettin’ ya get beat up again because o’ me!”

Davey pursed his lips, frustrated tears welling in his eyes as he thought about his bare skin, constantly markless since the day he was born.

“Aw, hell, Dave...” Jack murmured, holding Davey’s face in his hands. “I – I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t wanna make you cry-“

“It’s not you.” Davey whispered.

“C’mon, Davey, don’t be upset with me.” Jack said gently. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Idiot.” Davey muttered. “You never could.”

It was true. Even without a soulmark, he’d always care for Jack. He’d always love being around him, soaking up his light and energy, wondering how it would feel to hug him for just a second longer-

And yet...

Jack tilted Davey’s chin, leaning forward ever so slightly. It was a question, a silent ask for permission. Davey almost wanted to laugh – he’d never known Jack Kelly to be shy. He was about to let his eyes fall shut when he heard a small crash from the door.

Both boys jolted, whirling around to see Spot Conlon staring at them with wide eyes.

“What’re you doin’ here, Conlon?” Jack growled, shoving Davey behind him. “What’d you see?”

“Nothin’.” Spot lied. “I just – I need to talk to Davey.”

“Why?”

“I just do, ain’t none o’ your business!” Spot snapped, any trace of apprehension quickly disappearing as he and Jack engaged in their usual routine. He blinked rapidly once he realized what he was doing and turned his attention back to Davey.

“I gotta talk to you.” He said quietly, looking at Davey with pleading eyes. “It’s urgent.”

“Whatever you wanna say, you can say it here.” Jack snarled.

“Kelly, I’mma fuckin’-!”

“Spot?” Davey asked, nudging Jack to the side. “What, um. What’d you wanna say?”

Spot wilted, shifting uncomfortably.

“I, uh.” He mumbled. “I heard. What he said.”

Jack clenched his fists beside Davey.

“Son of a _bitch-“_

“Jack!” Davey cried, holding him back from ramming at Spot full force. “Just _listen_ , please?”

Jack sighed, looking at Davey questioningly. Davey smiled as best he could. Jack rolled his eyes and shifted so Davey was slightly in front of him, hovering over his shoulder like a guard dog.

“So.” Spot mumbled, scratching his neck. “S’it true? You two... You two’s soulmates?”

“I’m Jack’s.” Davey said quietly, ignoring the imploring look Jack gave him. “Apparently.”

“But he ain’t yours?” Spot asked, and Davey would dare to say there was something close to hope in his eyes. Hope and a trace of guilt.

“Um.” Davey glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye. His stomach sank as he shifted his gaze to the floor. “No.”

He tried desperately to ignore the way Jack deflated next to him.

“I don’t have a mark.” He elaborated. Both newsies snapped their heads to gape at him in question. “I-It’s not a big deal.” He said quickly. “I’m used to it, I-I don’t mind talking about it, it just... Never came up. But I don’t. I don’t have a mark and I don’t have a soulmate. I’m just...” He shrugged, waving his hands. “Yeah.”

“No.” Spot said quietly, more to himself than to the other two. “No, that can’t be right, I – I _know_ it’s-“

“Know what?” Jack asked, moving slightly closer to Davey. Spot sighed, raking his hand through his dark hair.

“Spot.” Davey said gently, taking a step towards him. “What’s wrong?”

Spot let out a small strangled noise as he fisted his hands in his shirt.

“Just-“ He sighed through his nose. “Don’t hate me for this.”

“We’ll see about that.” Jack muttered.

“Hey.” Davey said firmly. “Leave him.”

Spot swallowed, holding out his hands. Davey frowned, reaching out to cup Spot’s hands in his own and peering at the blue circles winding around his palms.

“They were just regular circles at first.” Spot mumbled. “But then when you came over with Jack, and... I saw your eyes...” He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I ain’t ever seen a blue like that before. And I just... Felt it. But I didn’t wanna think it, ‘cause I ain’t never been one for that whole fate shit. But then they started to change...”

Davey peered closer at the marks, managing to make out tiny words spiralling to make the blue circles.

“Strike...” He mumbled as he read the words on Spot’s palms. “Family, pennies, Manhattan, moron- oh...”

Spot chuckled lightly at Davey’s embarrassed flush.

“You were pretty bold, huh?”

“Sorry.” Davey smiled bashfully. “Uh – Walking Mouth?”

“Yeah, that was kinda the giveaway.” Spot shrugged. “They just kept comin’ and comin’, all these new words, and I just... I just _knew_.”

“Spot...” Davey said quietly. “God, I’m so sorry...”

Spot wilted, gazing at the floor.

“Yeah.” He chuckled bitterly. “Figured.”

“No – Spot, you really are great!” Davey smiled reassuringly. “I like you a whole lot-“

“You do?”

“You do?!” Jack asked.

“Both of you!” Davey cried. “You’re both so sweet and I care about you both, so much, it’s just-“

“You don’t have a mark.” Spot nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Jack frowned. “I mean – two guys have a mark for you, but you don’t have one? It doesn’t make sense...”

“Did you check everywhere?” Spot asked.

“What? I dunno!” Davey cried, stumbling away from them. “I-I haven’t checked since I was thirteen, it never showed up!”

“Okay, yeah, we gotta settle this.” Jack huffed, side eyeing Spot. “Davey, take off your shirt.”

Davey’s face flushed red. “What?!”

“Y’can’t just ask him that, moron!” Spot snapped, punching Jack’s chest.

“Well, we need to check!” Jack retorted, about to shove Spot in return before he noticed Davey’s flustered face. “But, uh – sorry, Dave.”

“I’m not taking off my shirt.” Davey muttered, folding his arms self consciously over his chest. “There’s no mark.”

“Please, Dave?” Jack pleaded, touching Davey’s arm. “I just – I have to know.”

“Me too.” Spot said gently. “We won’t, like – judge, or anythin’. If you’s scared o’ that. We just gotta know.”

“I am not _scared_ of you two judging my body.” Davey muttered, like a liar. He stared stubbornly at  the floor, trying desperately to ignore Jack and Spot’s pleading looks, their eyes so soft and kind and _loving-_

Oh, for _fucks_ sake.

“One look.” Davey said firmly as he shucked his vest and began to unbutton his shirt. “I am _only_ taking off the shirt, so if there’s nothing there, then I’m putting my clothes back on and we’re done looking! And you two are _so_ coming to the rally, you owe me!”

“Deal.”

“Gotcha.” Spot nodded, swallowing heavily as he watched Davey loosen his tie.

“Quit lookin’ at him like that!” Jack snapped, slapping him upside the head.

“Sorry!” Spot cried, more to Davey than to Jack. “I-I wasn’t tryin’ to! And you were, too, anyhow!”

Jack flushed, his eyes flicking to Davey pulling off his shirt before quickly looking away.

“What?! No, I wasn’t!”

“Both of you shut up and look for a goddamn mark!” Davey snapped, wrapping his arms around his bare middle. Goddammit, why was it so _cold_ in here?!

He tried his best to fight the red blush spreading down his neck as Spot and Jack peered at him carefully. He let out a tiny strangled noise when he felt their gentle touches on his waist as they slowly turned him.

“Whoa.” Jack breathed, calloused fingertips burning trails down Davey’s back.

“What?” Davey asked, craning his neck. “What is it?”

“I don’t understand.” Spot murmured, his thumb resting against Davey’s hip. “Is it... Is it both of us?”

“What’s both of you?!” Davey cried. “Is – is there actually a mark?”

“Jesus, Dave.” Jack said quietly. “You have no idea.”

“What does that even mean?!” Davey snapped. “Someone tell me what’s going on!”

“It can’t be both of us.”

Jack nodded. “No way. We can’t _all_ be soulmates.”

“So Davey’s gotta choose, then.”

“What?!” Davey cried, and _God,_ he was tired of saying that over and over.

“Well – it can’t be both of us!” Jack reasoned. “’Cause then it’d be all of us, and I sure as hell ain’t sweet on Spot Conlon.”

“And there ain’t no way I’m in love with Jack Kelly.” Spot huffed, folding his arms.

“I am not going to – to _choose_ between the two of you!” Davey cried. “I care about both of you, it’s just – it’s _cruel!”_

“So what’re you thinkin’, then?!” Jack asked. “’Cause we don’t have any ideas here, Dave, you’s the brains of the operation!”

“I think-!” Davey sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I think that this isn’t what’s important right now. This – This stupid mark drama isn’t gonna help the strike! So we’re gonna hold the rally here, and you are all coming, and we’re all going to bring our newsies and listen to what they have to say! Alright?!”

The two newsies at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Right.” Jack nodded. “Right, we – ah hell, Davey, we’s sorry.”

“We didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Spot mumbled.

“I know.” Davey sighed. “But – The strike is what’s important right now. We can’t let something stupid like this come between it.”

“This ain’t stupid.” Jack muttered petulantly. “It’s _you_.”

Davey felt his chest flutter.

“Okay.” He said awkwardly. “Okay, y-yeah. Let’s just-“ He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you at the rally.”

He pushed past them and strode to the door before pausing in the threshold. He hunched his shoulders and spun slowly on his heel, sighing heavily through his nose.

“Did anyone see where I put my clothes?”

oOo

“Hey, Davey.”

“Jack!” Davey grinned, whirling around to see Jack standing behind him with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Oh my God, I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Davey.” Jack said quietly, his voice numb and broken. “What we talked about yesterday – about me and Spot-“

“Jack.” Davey sighed. “I – I _really_ don’t want to-“

“I know.” Jack said, touching Davey’s shoulder. “I just – I need to you to know. Whatever I do, no matter how stupid or crazy you think it is? It’s for you.” He sighed, giving Davey a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s always for you, Davey.”

Davey blinked, his cheeks flushing with warmth despite the chill in the air.

“Oh.” Davey murmured. “That’s, um. Thank you, Jack.”

“No problem.” Jack said gently, glancing at Medda’s theatre. “Let’s, uh. Let’s go rally.”

“Yeah.” Davey smiled. Before Jack went to walk to the theatre, Davey held out his hand. “Newsies forever?”

Jack’s face fell as he glanced from Davey’s hand to his eyes.

“Yeah.” He took Davey’s hand and smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. “Newsies forever.”

oOo

Davey needed to start getting used to Jack’s lies.

“Sellout.” Spot breathed as one of Pulitzer’s cronies stuffed a wad of bills into Jack’s hand.

Sellout. Noun. The act of doing something selfishly for money, without considering principles or damage to others.

Well. He supposed he should’ve gotten used to that by now.

“Scab!” Spot snarled, shoving Jack into one of the wooden pillars of Medda’s theatre.

“Everybody get outta here!” Race yelled over the crowd as newsies began to flood to the exits. Davey felt his face fall as the panicked cries of the newsies invaded his ears, the noise settling in his bones and vibrating painfully with the deafening noises of his mile-a-minute thought. Sellout, selfish, money, damage, Jack, Jack, _Jack-_

“He trusted you!” Spot screamed, shoving Jack to the floor at full force. His hands wound around Jack’s hair as he pulled his fist back. “Fucking idiot, he loved you, he was going to choose _you,_ and you sold him out!”

The newsies are screaming and Spot is yelling and Jack’s shouting and Les is sobbing and Davey just can’t, he _can’t-_

“Stop!” He cried, yanking his hair painfully. “Just – everyone just _stop!”_

Both newsies jolted from where they were brawling on the theatre floor, looking up at Davey with wide, concerned eyes.

“Davey.” Les whimpered, tugging on his brother’s jacket as fat tears streamed down his face. “Davey, they’re comin’...”

Davey panted heavily. Puliter’s people would be coming at any second, and Les was scared, and _he_ was scared, and Jack and Spot... He shook his head slowly, stumbling away from them.

“We gotta go.” He whispered, grabbing Les’ hand.

“Davey?” Jack asked, looking up at him from where he was sprawled on the floor, Pulitzer’s money strewn around him.

Davey took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Spot.” He said quietly, fixing the shorter newsie with a pleading glance. “We need to leave.”

Spot blinked, looking from Davey to Jack. He opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and pursing his lips.

“Yeah.” He nodded, rising to his feet. “Let’s go. C’mon, kid.”

In one swift movement, he hoisted Les into his strong arms, the three of them sprinting out of the theatre together. Davey paused at the doorway, looking back at Jack still sat on the stage, his head in his calloused, paint stained hands that had always held him so carefully whenever they-

“Davey.” Spot snapped him out of his thoughts and grabbed his hand. “We gotta go.”

“Right.” Davey nodded. “Right. Come with me, they’ll never find you at our place.”

“What about Jack?”

Davey was too distraught to be surprised by Spot’s sudden worry for Jack’s wellbeing. Stupid, sellout Jack who lied and betrayed everywhere he went, who’d double crossed them and left them for dead and considered Santa Fe more of a home than the people who loved and cared for him-

He screwed his eyes shut and pulled Spot and Les out of the theatre with him, closing the doors behind them.

“It’s like you said.” He muttered as they began to hurry back to the Jacobs’ tenement. “Jack’s gone.”

oOo

“Are you staying the night?” Davey asked as Spot helped him lay Les down in their bed.

“I gotta head back to Brooklyn.” Spot sighed. “Make sure the others are okay. Mind if I stay until the streets die down?”

“Of course.” Davey nodded. “Just – not here. Les needs to sleep. He deserves to have the bed to himself tonight.”

Spot furrowed his brow, glancing at the tiny boy curled up in their shared bed, his eyes puffy and swollen and his face marred with tear tracks.

“Think he’ll be okay?”

“Well, his childhood hero just sold him out to the cops and betrayed us all, so I’m gonna say no.” Davey muttered. “C’mon, we can stay on the couch for a while. My parents should be asleep by now.”

They walked to the living room in silence, sitting stiffly on the couch with a good few inches between them.

“Look, Dave...” Spot mumbled, looking at his blue-stained hands. “If – If there’s anything I can do...”

Davey almost wanted to scoff. What could he do? The Union was in shambles and if the rally was proof enough, no one would be able to pick up the pieces and lead like Jack had. Davey was the brains of the organisation, sure, but Jack had always been the leader. It was honestly kind of a genius move on Pulitzer’s side – not only had he gotten Jack to betray them, but he’d also destroyed their hope. They’d never be able to trust another leader now. They’d never be able to find someone as inspiring as Jack was.

Davey curled his fists into the sofa cushions. What could anyone do right now?

“There’s one thing.” He said quietly. “One thing you can do for me. If you want to, I mean.”

Spot touched his hand gently. “Anythin’, Dave.”

Davey tried to ignore the pang in his chest.

“Follow me.” He said, standing from the couch and padding quietly to his sister’s bedroom. He let Spot wait outside and tip-toed in carefully, managing to snag a handheld mirror from her dresser, and hurried back out. He nodded for Spot to follow him and brought him to the tiny bathroom of the tenement.

“I know you looked already.” He said as he shucked off his shirt, doing his best to ignore the way Spot audibly swallowed. “But I never had the guts to look myself. I never wanted to admit it was real.”

Spot didn’t ask any questions as to why Davey had decided that now was the time to admit to himself the truth of the situation. Davey was grateful for that.

He positioned himself in front of the mirror on the wall, wrapping his arms around his waist to try and make himself as small as possible.

“Can you, um.” He mumbled, hunching his shoulders. “Just – Just hold that over my back for me, would you? I need to see it.”

Spot nodded, moving behind him and trailing his fingers across the sharp jut of Davey’s hipbone, like he just couldn’t bear not to touch it. He rose the mirror over Davey’s shoulders, trying to get the right angle so the reflection would be caught in the larger mirror.

The moment Davey saw it, his breath stopped.

Wings. Huge, multicoloured wings spanning over his shoulders, each one painted with what looked like hundreds of single brush strokes of different colour and weight and texture. They fluttered over his back, spanning from a rusty silver key placed delicately between his shoulder blades, just over the small of his back. Davey let out a stuttered breath, reaching over his shoulder to trace the feathered tip.

“The paint’s Jack.” Spot said quietly. “No doubt about it. But the key...” He held up the necklace around his neck. “It’s the exact same.”

Davey said nothing, swallowing heavily as he felt his eyes begin to moisten. He gasped as he felt a touch burning against the key on his back, and Spot quickly retracted his hand.

“Sorry!” He said quickly. “I just – I had to-“

“It’s okay.” Davey said quietly. “It’s fine, it’s just...”

“I know.” Spot nodded. A person’s soulmark was a direct link to their soul – it was no question that they’d be sensitive to touch. Spot smirked awkwardly. “Imagine havin’ ‘em on your hands.”

Davey tried to laugh, but he couldn’t quite get it out.

“It is beautiful.” Spot said gently. “I’s seen a lot o’ soulmarks at the lodgin’s, but... I ain’t ever seen one like this.”

Davey sighed, grabbing his shirt from the floor.

“Delancey’s should’ve ripped it off when they had the chance.” He muttered as he tugged his shirt back over his shoulders, wincing as the scabs on his back pulled and threatened to reopen.

“You don’t mean that.” Spot murmured, setting down the handheld mirror.

“I do.” Davey said firmly. “This whole mess – it never would’ve happened if I didn’t have it.”

“Yeah?” Spot asked, raising an eyebrow. “So what, you and Kelly leadin’ a strike, your friends getting’ thrown in the Refuge, Jack takin’ Pulitzer’s money, that all happened ‘cause o’ you?”

“Well – no.” Davey muttered. His self-loathing may have been strong, but even he knew that that was a stretch. He just knew that if he’d gone his whole life markless... Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“I’m glad you have it.” Spot said quietly.

Davey scoffed. “Please. You’re seriously trying to tell me you’re enjoying watching me try to choose between you and Jack?”

“Oh, no, it is a mess.” Spot nodded. “But I’m glad I’m in it. Because, yeah, maybe I’ll always have to share you with Jack. Maybe – maybe just me by myself’ll only ever be half of what you really want. But at least I know I have you. At least I know I’m supposed to be here with you. Even if it means I have to share you with somebody else.”

Davey felt those words like a stab to the chest. He swallowed and wiped at his eyes harshly before turning around.

“Yeah, well.” He mumbled. “I don’t think you’ll have to be sharing for long. Doesn’t look like Jack’ll be coming back anytime soon.”

Spot frowned at Davey’s detached tone. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“It don’t make any sense.” Spot huffed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Sure, Kelly’s an asshole, but he’d never let himself be bribed. He’s too damn stubborn.”

Davey said nothing, moving to sit next to Spot on the tub. He shuffled a little closer to him than he had on the couch, letting their thighs nudge together just so he could feel his solid warmth.

“Did he say anythin’ to you?” Spot asked. “I mean – as much as I hate the guy, there has to be a reason.”

Davey frowned, remembering Jack’s numb voice and tired eyes.

“One thing.” He said quietly. “He said... He said everything he did, it was for me. No matter how stupid it seems.” He frowned, gnawing his lower lip. “But I don’t get why that made him take the money...”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Spot’s shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he stuffed a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

“What?” He huffed indignantly at Spot’s laughter. “What’s so funny?!”

“Nothin’!” Spot protested, a smile tugging at his usual smirk. “Just – Of fuckin’ _course_ he said that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ah, nothin’ bad.” Spot shrugged. “Just that Kelly’s kind of a moron when he’s in love.”

Davey blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“In love?” He murmured.

“Yep.” Spot said, popping the ‘p’. “Kind of a dumbass, but... It comes from a good place.”

“So – so you’ve seen it before, then?” Davey asked quietly. “He’s been in love before.”

“Oh, not like this.” Spot shook his head. “No, maybe once or twice, but even then, he never looked at them the way he looks at you. As much as he hates to admit it, the sucker’s kind of a hopeless romantic.”

“Oh.” Davey mumbled. “I... I always thought he just toyed around with people.”

“He does. Usually. That’s all newsies really can do. But I grew up with that guy. Trust me, when he falls...” Spot scoffed, shaking his head. “He falls _hard_.”

Davey sighed, rubbing his thumb against his palm.

“I don’t want to choose between you two.” He said softly. “Even now, even after what happened... I just can’t.”

“I know, Dave.” Spot sighed, rubbing his shoulder. “And you don’t gotta, if you don’t wanna. I know we were kind of... Overbearin’, at first, but... We really do just want you to be happy.”

Davey snorted at the uncharacteristic softness of Spot’s tone.

“Never thought you’d be a secret sap.”

“You tell anyone and I’ll soak ya.” Spot smirked, swatting his head. “Aw, hell...” He muttered, rising to his feet and stretching his arms above his head, blue palms facing the ceiling. “I gotta be headin’ back to Brooklyn. Stay safe, a’right?”

“You too.” Davey smiled as best he could. “Get home safe.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Mama bird.”

“Sap.”

“Hey!” Spot snapped with faux anger. “That’s the King o’ Brooklyn to you, pal.”

Davey snorted, getting to his feet and slapping Spot’s shoulder as he walked to the door.

“See ya, Spotty.”

Spot paused, looking at Davey with that same look that he still couldn’t quite place, so full of love and adoration that it hurt. Davey knew Spot had to act all tough for his role of the King of Brooklyn, and it wasn’t like he was denying that Spot was a rough guy – but it still felt nice to be one of the few people outside of the Brooklyn newsies that knew about Spot’s soft side.

Spot’s Adams apple bobbed dangerously as he looked Davey up and down, his shirt untucked and his tie loose from trying to see his mark. He took two steps forward, one step back, before muttering something under his breath and grabbing Davey’s open vest, yanking him down and forcing himself up on his tiptoes to yank Davey into a kiss.

Davey made a small noise before curling his arms around Spot’s waist, pulling him up just a bit further to fix the awkward angle. Spot’s feet were just brushing to floor to hold himself upright, his arms clinging to Davey’s vest to hold him in place. Davey had always expected Spot to be rough when it came to intimate moments – harsh and demanding and determined to get what he wanted. He’d always seemed so take charge and powerful – what else was Davey to expect? But in actuality, Spot was a lot more gentle than Davey had anticipated. His hands were still rough against his skin, and his lips were dry and chapped against Davey’s own, but he held him so carefully, his movements slow and testing, allowing Davey to set the path for them. He was so kind, so careful – Davey had to keep himself from smiling too much and breaking the kiss too soon.

They broke apart slowly, tasting their breath on each other’s lips as they separated by only an inch. Davey opened his eyes to see Spot looking at him with that same look of adoration, and he couldn’t help but melt. Spot smiled – not one of his signature smirks, a tiny genuine smile – and pushed a strand of Davey’s hair into place.

“I’ll see ya, beanpole.”

oOo

“What’re you doing here?” Davey growled as Jack leaned against the barrier of the fire escape, his head hanging shamefully.

“I need to talk to you.”

Davey felt his stomach churn with rage and frustration and betrayal and everything in between. If he were like any of the other newsies, he’d punch Jack in the face and tell him to never speak to him again.

“Roof.” Davey muttered, avoiding Jake’s gaze. “Now.”

It’s a shame he wasn’t like any of the other newsies.

“What happened to your eye?” He asked quietly as he and Jack dangled their legs over the roof of the apartment building in stiff silence.

“Katherine takes the term ‘knock some sense into you’ pretty literally.” Jack muttered, tracing the bruise on his face. “She’s kinda the reason why I’m here, actually...”

“Oh.” Davey nodded, fighting the jealous wave in his chest. It was no secret that Katherine was probably the only person who could keep up with Jack. If their soulmarks weren’t so fucked up – if the universe hadn’t made this colossal mistake - he had no doubt Katherine and Jack would be true soulmates.

“Davey...” Jack sighed. “About what happened-“

“Why did you do it?” Davey asked, raising his hand when Jack opened his mouth. “No – y’know what? I’m talking now. Because – honestly, fuck you. _Fuck you,_ Jack Kelly. Do you have any idea how much you hurt us?! Les was crying, Jack. He cried himself to sleep. You’d better pray to God he doesn’t see you here because if you hurt him anymore than you already have I’ll shove you off this rooftop myself.”

“I know, but-“

“You lied to me!” Davey snapped. “You lied to all of us – you just ducked out the moment the going got tough so you could run away to Santa Fe instead of staying with the people who actually care about you-“

“That’s not what happened!”

“Then what is it?!” Davey snarled. “Because I’m – I’m wracking my brain here, Kelly, and I can’t find one goddamn reason-“

Jack grabbed Davey by the lapels of his vest and pushed their lips together.

Davey squeaked softly before allowing himself to melt into Jack’s grip. Just like Spot, he’d been rough around the edges, but it was contrasted by the way he held Davey so gently, like if he held him any tighter, he’d break. His hands travelled down from his vest and squeezed his hips before one arm wound around his back and the other went to card his fingers through Davey’s hair. Davey made another soft sound as Jack slowly began to take charge – not in a pushy or demanding manner, but in a way that was almost questioning. He’d tilt Davey’s head ever so slightly, push just the smallest bit further before pulling back, silently asking whether Davey was okay with it. The answer was always yes.

Lost in the moment, Davey reached up to tug lightly on Jack’s hair. He practically purred into Davey’s mouth, the noise and the feel of the vibrations enough to knock Davey back into reality. He shoved Jack away from him, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Well, that’s one way to get you to stop talkin’...” Jack mumbled, brushing his thumb over his lower lip. Davey squeaked helplessly.

“You can’t do that!” He snapped. “You can’t just – just kiss me and expect everything to be okay!”

“I know.” Jack sighed. “It’s not okay. I just... I had to know, is all. ‘Sides, didn’t that answer your question?”

Davey cocked his head. “Huh?”

“You asked why I did what I did.” Jack shrugged. “I did it for you.”

“I don’t...” Davey mumbled. “I don’t understand...”

“You didn’t hear what Pulitzer said.” Jack muttered. “I thought I could talk to him – get him to compromise...” He scoffed bitterly. “Some genius I am. He told me to speak against the strike, but-!” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He turned and touched Davey’s shoulder, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Look, you can hate me for this, but I need you to know... I never did it for the money. The things he said – he said he’d ruin Katherine’s career, keep Crutchie in the Refuge for good... And then he talked about you.”

Davey stiffened. “D-Does he-?”

“I don’t think so.” Jack said gently. “If he knew, he would’ve locked us all up by now. He just knows we’s partners. And he said... He said he’d have you and Les in the Refuge, too. That you’d be ripped outta your family and thrown in their for God knows how long.” He swallowed heavily, and Davey could make out the glistening sheen of tears in his eyes. “The Refuge changes ya, Dave. I'm lucky I got out when I did, but you... It'd ruin you, Davey. Mess you up and take away all the good stuff about ya till there ain't nothin' left. And Les - he's just a kid, Davey, he can’t survive in a place like that. Just the thought of you two in that damn place... I couldn’t let it happen, Dave.”

“You could’ve told me.” Davey reasoned, cupping Jack’s face with his hands. “I would’ve understood.”

“Pulitzer has eyes everywhere.” Jack muttered, shrugging off Davey’s hands. “I couldn’t risk it. Not for you.” He sighed, flopping onto his back. “And now it’s too late.”

Davey frowned, looking at Jack sprawled on the roof of the building, his hat shadowing his face as he lay down and admitted defeat.

“No.”

“What?” Jack frowned, pushing his hat off of his face.

“I said no.”

“But-“ Jack huffed, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Davey, I said it’s too late.”

“I know. I heard.” Davey smiled, determination glinting in his eyes. “And then I refused to accept it.”

“You refused to accept it?”

“It’s a talent of mine.” Davey smirked. “Now, you came here for a reason. What’s the plan?”

“God, Dave!” Jack huffed. “Even if I thought this plan would work, no one’s gonna trust us again! Pulitzer knew what he was doin’ – the Union’s gone. They’ll never see me as a leader again.”

Davey grinned, leaning over to clap Jack’s shoulder.

“Try me.”

oOo

“Dave.” Spot sighed as Davey paced back and forth outside of Pulitzer’s office. “You have got to relax.”

“I can’t!” Davey snapped. Spot winced as his pacing began to speed up. “You don’t know what Pulitzer’s saying to him in there! What if it’s like last time? What if he gives him even more money and Jack slips out the back door and runs off to Santa Fe?!”

“Well, first of all, there was no back door in Pulitzer’s office, so that’d be a pretty neat trick on Kelly’s part.” Spot shrugged. “And second, I think it’s safe to say Jack’s given up on Santa Fe.”

Davey frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Well...” Spot drawled, see-sawing his hand. “I wouldn’t say ‘given up on’, actually... More like he changed his mind.”

“Yeah, but _why?”_

Spot smirked, eyeing Davey up and down.

“’Cause now he has somethin’ to believe in.” He said smoothly. “And to be honest, I can kinda see where he’s comin’ from.”

Davey flushed.

“Oh my God...” He mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “I cannot believe this is happening. Stop it.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Spot grinned. “Deal with it, beanpole.”

Before Davey could reply, Pulitzer’s office doors opened.

“Jack!” He smiled before panic settled in his bones. “What, um. What happened?”

Jack’s face was unreadable. He sighed, looking at the floor.

“I ain’t gonna lie to ya, Dave.” He said quietly. Davey felt his face fall.

“Oh...” He mumbled. Jack looked up, a slow grin spreading over his face.

“We won.”

oOo

He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen once the strike was over.

Spot had returned to Brooklyn to tend to the wounds of his newsies and take care of the littles who’d been left with only Hotshot for babysitting duty (Davey had only met Hotshot once, but he was still certain the guy should not be left around children. Judging by the apparent scream Race heard on his way back from Sheepshead, Spot had realized his mistake). Jack and Davey had gone back to Duane Street to tend to their own boys (Jack had spent the entire afternoon fussing over Crutchie and insisting he shouldn’t be working with his injuries like a mama hen), and the finally get some well deserved rest after the final push of the strike. He knew that he, Jack and Spot all needed to have a conversation at some point, but as of now, they were all far too busy. Jack had a new job, Spot had to lead the Brooklyn newsies and Davey had a lot more responsibility as Jack’s righthand man around the lodging house now that Jack was busy working for Pulitzer making those political cartoons. If Davey was being honest, he was kind of relieved that they were all too busy to talk. He knew he’d never be able to come to a final decision. He could never choose between the two of them, not even with a gun to his head, and Davey knew he could never have both. It was one thing to hide a relationship that could get him, in the best case scenario, thrown in prison, in the worst case scenario, killed with just one boy, but with two? Not to mention there was no way Spot and Jack would ever be able to share. They could barely even split a sandwich without ripping each other’s heads off. He knew Spot had said that he was fine knowing that he’d always be sharing Davey with Jack, but he just wasn’t sure if either of them would ever really be okay with sharing two halves of Davey’s soul like that.

Davey sighed as he thumped his head against his desk. Ever since he and Les had been able to start selling again, along with the new buy-back agreement, they’d finally been able to start making some money to support themselves until their father had managed to find a new job. The pay was manageable, but not great, so Davey and Les still had to sell on weekends – they’d even run down to the lodging house after school to do homework on the fire escape once everyone had finished selling. But with their father having a new job, and he and Les still selling papes, it meant they were financially stable enough to go back to school. And, unfortunately, that meant homework.

“Hey, Davey!” Sarah grinned as she threw open the door to his and Les’ room. “You have visitors!”

Davey frowned at the smile on her face – the smile she reserved for when she knew something she shouldn’t.

“Sorry, Sar.” He smiled reluctantly, waving his workbook. “Fractions.”

“C’mon, you’ll love it!” Sarah whined, bouncing on her heels. _“Please,_ Davey?”

“Sarah, I’m sorry, but Mom and Pop said that I need to take my schoolwork seriously, especially after the strike-“

“It’s Spot and Jack.”

“Oh, _fuck_ fractions.” Davey said as he scrambled out of his chair. “Thanks, Sar!”

“Go get ‘em, Tiger.” Sarah smirked, rolling her eyes as Davey sprinted up the fire escape, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Hey, guys!” He smiled as he reached the roof, a little out of breath.

“Dave!” Jack grinned, his head perking up like a little puppy. Spot whirled around, his smirk turning into a full smile once he caught sight of him. Davey felt his insides melt just a little.

“We gotta talk to you.”

Shit.

“Oh!” Davey’s smile became tight and forced. “That’s, um, that’s nice! What’re we talking about?”

“Dave.” Spot said carefully. “You know what we’re talkin’ about.”

Davey felt his stomach twist.

“Look, I-“ He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I can’t choose. Okay? I _can’t_. I’ve tried and tried and I’ve thought about it from every possible angle and I _can’t,_ I just-!” He dragged his hand down his face. “I love you. Okay? Both of you. And that’s why I can’t choose.”

Jack softened, his eyes full of affection.

“Aw, Dave, we know that!” He smiled. “That’s why you don’t gotta choose.”

Davey froze, his retort dying in his throat.

“Uh.” He mumbled. “What?”

“We talked.” Jack shrugged. “Well – yelled, mostly. But we figured somethin’ out.”

“We both care about you.” Spot elaborated. “And we figured, since we both love you, and we know you love both of us... Well, why not have both?”

“What?” Davey frowned. “So – so you _both_ want to... How’s that going to work?”

“Ah, y’know.” Jack smiled, shrugging with ease. “However many times you kiss Spot, you give me just as many. Fair?”

“So what?” Davey asked. “I just... I’ll just be with both of you? Can we even do that?”

“That is true...” Spot mumbled, pressing a finger to his chin in thought. “I mean, Race and Albert have been milking the whole ‘just friends’ excuse for a while, people might get suspicious if all three of us start using it...”

“What?!” Davey gasped. “Okay – no, not important right now. What about you guys?”

“What about us?”

“You two aren’t soulmates!” Davey cried. “What are you two gonna do?!”

“Oh, no, Dave-“ Spot scoffed. “We ain’t gonna court each other, are ya kiddin’? No, this is like... A partner project, you could say. I mean, you’re the one who told us to find common ground. Well...” He eyed Davey up and down. “We found it.”

“I – oh...” Davey whimpered helplessly. “But – this isn’t like, like two friends adopting a dog! You guys get jealous over cookies!”

“Spot took the last one!”

“Would you let it go?!” Spot snapped, elbowing Jack in the stomach. “Look, Davey – we had full discussions about this. We’ve figured it all out – your our soulmate. We both love you just as much as the other does. And we’re both your soulmate, and we know you love us the same. Just, uh... Maybe keep the lovin’ to just us, huh?”

“Oh, definitely.” Jack nodded. “We may be okay sharin’ with each other, but there ain’t no way we’s sharin’ with anyone else.”

“And...” Davey murmured, glancing between the two of them. “You’re both okay with this?”

“Dave.” Spot smiled. “Wouldja quit panickin’ for one second and hug us?”

Davey let out a tiny laugh, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“Oh my God.” He breathed, taking a small step towards them. “Oh my God!”

“There he is!” Jack grinned as Davey sprinted over to them, wrapping his arms around the both of them. Spot laughed at Davey’s enthusiasm, manoeuvring them carefully so Davey was pressed against Jack’s chest with Spot’s arms wound around Davey’s waist.

“Jesus...” Davey giggled, tears spilling over his cheeks onto Jack’s shirt.

“Well that ain’t very Jewish!” Jack gasped in mock horror, causing more watery giggles to bubble out of his throat.

“No doubt about it.” Davey chuckled. “You two’re definitely my soulmates.”

Spot grinned, pressing a kiss to the nape of Davey’s neck.

“Really?” He asked mischievously. “I had no idea.”

“Ah, quit teasin’ him.” Jack smirked, pressing small kisses to Davey’s forehead. “He’s a little stupid, but he’s still cute.”

“That he is.”

“Stop...” Davey groaned, hiding his face against Jack’s neck.

“Never.” Spot grinned.

“That’s it.” Davey declared. “I’m leaving. We are no longer soulmates, I have decreed it.”

“What?!” Spot gasped in false horror. “And here I was thinkin’ we were all in love and shit!”

“And who says Brooklyn boys ain’t romantic?” Jack scoffed.

“You watch it, Kelly, or I’ll soak ya.”

“You two are gonna be _wonderful_ at sharing.” Davey muttered. “Yeah, okay. I’m so leaving.”

“No way.” Spot said firmly, wrapping his arms tightly around Davey’s chest and nuzzling his nose into his nape. “We ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

“That’s what you think.” Davey scoffed. “Maybe I’ll steal Jack’s Santa Fe stash and catch a train to New Mexico.”

“You can’t steal my escape money!” Jack gasped. “That’s _my_ cowards cop out!”

“And besides, we’d just track you down and haul ya back.” Spot said firmly, dotting kisses down Davey’s spine.

“Well, there’s one thing you two can agree on.” Davey chuckled.

“There’s no escapin’ us, pal.” Jack smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Davey’s lips. “We’s inevitable.”

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE LONGEST ONE SHOT IVE EVER FUCKING WRITTEN AHHHHHHH  
> god some of this might be out of character i'm sorry for that i've been half asleep for most of this  
> tumblr is @ren-sauce


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